


Food Issues

by kianisabitch



Series: attempting to black out the marvel bingo [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anorexia, Anorexic Peter Parker, Bullying, Childhood Sexual Abuse, Childhood Trauma, Eating Disorders, Hospitalization, Hurt/Comfort, Marvel Bingo 2019, Mental Health Issues, Nightmares, Peter Parker Gets a Hug, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker is a Mess, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Avengers, Recovery, Relapsing, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Whump, author needs a hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-08
Updated: 2019-07-08
Packaged: 2020-06-24 18:44:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19729579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kianisabitch/pseuds/kianisabitch
Summary: Peter Parker had always had food issues. He never called them that, because calling them issues meant that he had to admit that something was wrong. But they were always there throughout his entire life, twisting and clawing at him and consuming him with anxiety and fear and dread. As a child he felt like he was drowning in bacon fat and hot fudge sundaes and no, he swore he didn’t have food issues- he couldn’t have food issues.ORPeter Parker has struggled with an eating disorder for almost his entire life and it fucking sucked.(Fill for Hurt/Comfort square on Marvel Bingo)





	Food Issues

**Author's Note:**

> Please, please, please read the tags! This fic is really really really triggering for eating disorders, bullying and childhood sexual abuse.

Peter Parker had always had food issues. He never called them that, because calling them issues meant that he had to admit that something was wrong. But they were always there throughout his entire life, twisting and clawing at him and consuming him with anxiety and fear and dread. As a child he felt like he was drowning in bacon fat and hot fudge sundaes and no, he swore he didn’t have food issues- he couldn’t have food issues. 

He evaded recognizing the problematic and downright destructive behavior by referring to them in illusive manners and never outright as what he knew they were. To him, they were usually his ‘preferences’ or ‘special requests’ or maybe he ‘wasn’t hungry’ or he was being a ‘picky eater’, the issues went by different names that changed with the seasons and how fast his heartbeat was and the level of anxiety clawing at his chest. 

For the longest time, he never did recognize that they were actually issues. His mind refused to let him see that there may be an underlying fault in the situation. Or more precisely, his mind refused to let him see the underlying mental illness and chemical imbalance in his brain that he could never control. The issues were shrouded by darkness and he felt like he was trying to see with his eyes open underwater. 

When things were at their lowest point, his issues manifested in actions instead of words. His issues were shaking hands and growling stomachs and ribs so sharp they jutted out like mountains under his pale skin. His food issues were measured in the feeling of french fry oil on the pads of his fingers and marshmallow fluff stuck at the corner of his lips and ice pops melting and dripping down the curve of his chin and the smell of the green tea he drank every day for a week instead of eating. 

Looking back at the first time he remembers it happening makes him feel like he was looking at a firefly caught in a jam jar with no holes. He was young and the memories feel frayed and worn like an old photograph or a sweater from your deceased father. But he remembers the feeling of guilt, heavy like a pit in his stomach, as ice cream dripped down his face and onto the park bench he was sitting on with Aunt May and Uncle Ben. He remembers how he crushed the cone between his fingers and his aunt and uncle laughed at him because they thought he was being a messy little kid, he was seven at the time, and they didn’t understand that the feeling of the cone in the palm of his hand made him want to tear his hair out or cry or whack the flat side of his hand against the side of his head until the skin blossomed with contusions like flower petals under his skin. 

As a child, he knew that ice cream and cake and cookies and candy and all other foods dripping with sugar and anxiety were supposed to be special treats, but everytime he imagined eating them his skin felt like it was on fire. As a young child, he wasn’t scared of becoming fat or anything along those lines, but he still knew that there was something wrong about the situation.Somewhere in his mind, he knew that the sugar was his enemy and he was failing himself if he dared to eat it. He wanted to be happy, and he understood that the sugar was supposed to make him feel happy, but he refused to celebrate using food (and especially sweet food at that) because food always came with the overwhelming feeling of being gross and dirty and wrong; and when he ate, he felt like he was drowning. 

With time, his aunt and uncle seemed to understand that food wasn’t the way to their nephew’s heart and slowly their celebrations veered away from being centered around food. The candy and cookies and ice cream faded away and instead the boy had measured celebrations in Iron Man toys and Stark expo tickets and trips to the beach and once, when his uncle had recently received a holiday bonus, in concert tickets to see a band he no longer remembered the name of. 

However, he remembers the name of the first junk foods he ever binged on (twizzlers, ruffles sour cream and onion chips, chips ahoy chewy chocolate chip cookies, turkey hill mint chip ice cream, twinkies and diet dr. pepper straight from the bottle) and it makes him sad to realize that the strongest memories he has were rooted in his own misery and destruction and the undeniable feelings of losing control. 

He was eleven when it had happened and he remembers vividly the way his Aunt and Uncle found him. Ice cream dripped down his skin, he had forgone the spoon and instead dug the ice cream out of the carton with his fingers, he was sitting in a puddle of lukewarm soda and he had crushed up chips stuck to his hair and around the blue and purple bags under his eyes. The chip crumbs stuck to his skin from the moisture of his tears and he remembers May trying to wipe them away with a wet paper towel, as Ben hustled around the room trying to clean the mess that Peter had made. They were confused about what was happening, but he remembers their sweet words and tender touches and he fleetingly remembers wondering if his actions were a good way to get attention. 

Eleven was also the age that Skip happened and suddenly he was dealing with panic attacks and therapy visits and dissociative episodes on top of the food issues. And like a light bulb, everything became far worse. According to his therapist, trauma can cause eating disorders to become worse and suddenly his Aunt and Uncle were looking at him like he had two heads and it made Peter feel disconnected from his body and he was spinning out of control. 

They tried to help, but being a sexual assault survior and having an eating disorder all at eleven years old made for a hard to understand and stand offish child; and Peter spent many days in the future wondering how they surivived being Peter’s parents. He was a mess and May and Ben had hearts of gold for being able to deal with him. 

He refused to eat for a week, after a particularly bad therapy appointment, and it got so bad that he still remembers the scratching of the hospital sheets and the way his body felt so broken and small in such a large bed. He remembers hating the IV and having to be restrained to the bed in order to keep him from pulling out the tubing. He remembers the nurses whispering about the way he flinched at touch and having to listen to May and Ben explain what Skip had done to him through the thick wooden panels of the door. And god, those were the worst times in his entire life- the times where he truly feared that his aunt and uncle would pick up and leave and never ever look back again at the broken boy in the hospital bed. 

But they stayed by his side and slowly Peter started getting better. Ha ate broccoli and yogurt and even pizza and everything seemed like it was going to be alright again. He was getting stronger and healthier and healing. He had people that loved him and Skip didn’t haunt him every night and he finally felt like he was putting part of his issues behind him. 

And then it call came crashing down like waves during high tide. And he was back to throwing up at the thought of food and refusing to eat because Uncle Ben was suddenly ripped from his life and all the boy could think about was the sight of the man's blood on his hands and his uncle’s lifeless body. 

The nightmares of Skip came back, but Uncle Ben’s lifeless form were now in them and Peter was lost. He was so fucking lost and out of control and he felt like the his entire being was the grey of the cracked asphalt his uncle died on. Peter wound up back in the hospital twice after the man’s death and they were truly two of the worst times in his entire life. 

The first time, Peter bagged up the entire contents of their kitchen into three thick, black garbage bags and threw them out the window of their 5th floor apartment. Soda and veggies and ice cream and bottles of hot sauce and a loaf of multigrain bread and sticks of butter all flew through the air like a projectile missile. The cops were called as the food hit a pedestrian on the street and then child protective services were called and May had no choice but to admit him to a psych ward or lose custody of her nephew all together 

He could tell that it killed his Aunt to lose the only person left that she loved, even if she was only losing him for a little bit, and Peter spent his time in the hospital desperately trying to work through the trauma that was stored in every muscle of his body. He talked about Skip for the first time in years and when he got out of the hospital, he genuinely thought that things were going to be better. 

But they weren’t better and to be honest, Peter barely remembers the second time he was in the hospital. He only remembers the darkness and the thoughts racing through his mind that his body was finally giving up on him once and for all and a little sadness he felt when the doctors and nurses forced nutrients into his body and he felt himself coming back to his body and staying distinctly alive. 

He was forced into a residential program after that and for three months, his entire life was focused around his recovery. There were strict rules in the facility and Peter still remembers them like he remembers Skip’s voice and his Uncle’s blood. No cutting up your muffins and only two condiment packets and no books at the table and finish everything and eat dessert and only one napkin and milk before water and butter only in hot cereal and eat every single crumb no dry cereal and don’t cut your fruit. And oh god, the rules would never leave his brain no matter how hard he tried to forget them. The rules were ingrained in his brain to the point where sometimes he found himself recounting them when he was tired or his brain was wandering and he needed a distraction. 

When he left residential treatment, it was fall of his freshman year of high school and he wanted nothing more than to start fresh in a new place. But you can’t start fresh when you’re the freak that starts the year in October, because you were off having food shoved down your throat and being forced to attend therapy sessions about being raped as a child, and he felt like he stuck out like a sore thumb. 

At the end of his eighth grade year, before residential became a thing and swallowed his entire life up from July to September, Peter had tested into an elite science school called Midtown High School and he was lucky they didn’t rescind his offer because he was late to start the school year (apparently being mentally ill gave you some pull in these situations). But being at a gifted science school still hurt like a sucker punch, because everyone around him could scientifically explain the disorder he had struggled with his entire life and it made Peter want to scream because he felt reduced to something they learned about fleetingly in health class. All the kids laughed at him, because who the fuck who would be dumb enough to starve themselves to death and Peter felt like he was drowning. 

He felt alone for so long and for a second he considered dropping out and never going again. But then he met Ned and suddenly he felt less alone and like he had something to live for at Midtown. Ned was an amazing friend and he helped Peter pick up the broken pieces of himself like they picked up the lego pieces they played with and he did ok for most of freshman year. 

He relapsed a few times, when the feelings of mayo on his fingers and Flash’s taunts felt like too much for him. That year, Flash felt like the bane of his entire existence. He seemed to pick up on Peter’s food issues the second he walked into the school and he had no sense of accountability and he didn’t seem to understand that every taunt made Peter feel like he was crumbling into a million pieces and completely and utterly breaking. It hurt his feelings, but for the most part he stayed stable. He wasn’t in the hospital once that entire year and for Peter, there was no larger accomplishments. He spent time with Ned and played with his legos and did his homework and he was doing ok. 

And then sophomore year started and he got bit by a radioactive spider and then he was ignoring his own self doubt and issues in favor of becoming a self made vigilante superhero and swinging around his neighborhood trying to save people- save himself. He was fourteen and so fucking dumb, thinking that it was a good idea to run around Queens in only his pajamas. He thought that if he saved others, it would make him feel better about himself and help him heal. It didn’t particularly help him heal physically, because he needed more food to survive, but it did make his conscious feel less heavy than it had before. 

And then he met Tony fucking Stark, his childhood idol, and he felt like he was soaring. When Tony was around, him and May decided to act like everything was back to normal and that Peter was back on the right track again and it was a good feeling- a really fucking good feeling. 

And to be fair, he did feel like he was pretty much on the right path during those months. Mr. Stark gave him a tech upgrade and self worth and value and in a strange sense, some form of affection. Mr. Stark seemed to believe in Peter in ways the boy never believed in himself and it made him feel happy and loved and validated. He stole Captain America’s shield and fought the other rogue avengers, which was badass and Mr. Stark really seemed to like him and his issues were slowly fading away into the background and he was doing ok. 

But then the whole Staten Island Ferry fiasco happened and like the snap of fingers, he lost it all and everything was being torn away from him faster than he could even blink. And everything spiraled and slowly became worse and worse and worse. He missed Tony and he spent so much time crying, until he felt like he was drowning in his own tears. 

He could only focus on the bad and suddenly every day became consumed with counting calories and every night was consumed with the nightmares. Skip was back and so was Uncle Ben and he swore that he could feel their hands on him and their voices and he started staying out later at night, precariously perched on top of skyscrapers- staring at the ground and crying/ He tried to convince himself that if he stopped eating he would be perfect and if he was perfect Mr. Stark would trust him again- would love him again. 

But his logic didn’t work and he instead landed himself in the hospital for two weeks and when he finally got back to his normal life, he found out that his crushes dad was a villain and then there was a fight and he was so lost and scared and he felt like he was dying. 

And now he had even more fuel for his nightmares, but at least Mr. Stark talked to him again. After the botched press conference, the man was talking to him even more than he had before the disaster few months and regardless of what he had gone through to get there, at least there was a somewhat positive ending. 

After Mr. Stark started talking to him more, lab days and movie nights became ritualistic parts of the boy’s schedule. The two spent time together twice weekly, Tony’s schedule permitting, and Peter recognized that Mr. Stark was a vital part of his support network. He relied on the man and he hadn’t been back to the hospital in months and slowly, yet surely, things were starting to get better. 

Those were the days where he ate more than one slice of pizza and take out Chinese straight from the box and cookie dough before it was baked and waffles with strawberries and whipped cream and fancy Italian food from a restaurant Mr. Stark loved but was more expensive than all his clothing combined. 

He never had food on his mind when he was around Mr. Stark and Peter was beyond happy. They watched Star Wars together and worked in the lab and Peter even showed him some vines and for a single second, Peter wondered if that was what having a dad felt like. 

That second turned into months of them tiptoeing around the elephant in the room- in their relationship. Until one day, as Peter licked apple strudel from his hand, not even flinching at the sugar intake while he sat criss cross on top of a countertop, Peter accidentally called Tony dad. And there was no real going back from that moment. After that, Tony was the dad and Peter was the son and they were happy- so fucking happy. 

Peter was doing so considerably better than he ever had done by the summer before junior year that May and Tony conspired to give Peter a summer he wouldn’t forget. And well May left out to Tony that it was Peter’s reward for being relapse free for months, instead of just doing better in general, but Peter heard the sentiment loud and clear and truly took his Aunt’s meaning to heart. He had been healthier than he ever was in the past and as a reward he got to stay with Tony, with his dad, for two entire months over the summer. 

The summer before he had been in residential treatment and he was excited beyond belief to be doing something so different and everything was finally settling into place. And for the first time in a long time, Peter wasn’t scared of the food surrounding his stay with his dad. He was only focussing on how much fun he was going to have. And what movies they were going to watch and the fact that Tony was letting him have an entire room to himself in the compound and he was going to decorate it and make it his own and it was going to feel like a second home. Just him and his dad, in their home. 

Peter was naive for thinking that everything would automatically be ok if he wanted it hard enough and it wasn’t like things completely went to shit either. But they also weren’t all perfect and a week into his stay, Peter pretended to be asleep rather than go to breakfast and eat the mound of chocolate chip pancakes he knew Tony had gotten up early to make for him. And later that week he pretended to be sick to his stomach when Tony ordered fancy pasta from that expensive place the man loved and Peter didn't eat it, but wound up crying for hours when he realized how much money his dad spent on Peter’s uneaten meal alone.

After that, he slowly started slipping dollar bills and quarters into Tony’s pockets until the man caught on and confronted him and then Peter had cried so much it felt like his eyes were leaking an entire ocean. For a second the boy had contemplated explaining to the man that he had food issues and that he had struggled with them for almost his entire life, but he quickly shot that idea in the foot in favor of explaining it off as a money thing (which to be fair, it partially was). The amount of money Tony had wasted on the uneaten food alone made Peter’s head hurt and he spent far too long calculating the costs of his food over and over and over again in his brain, until the cost of him eating became a new obsession of his. And then Peter felt like he was being sucked back into his eating disorder once again. But he refused to relapse or end up in the hospital and he desperately tried to keep his head on straight and food in his stomach. 

The mass pardoning of the rogue avengers a week later became the perfect distraction and food was pushed to the back of his mind once more as Tony’s, and consequently his, life quickly became swamped. May had offered to let him come back home, but Peter opted to stay upstate at the compound. He loved the hustle and bustle of being around all the new faces, as well as spending time with Tony. It made him feel loved and like he was part of something bigger than himself.

At first, the rogues had been confused as to who he was and some of their comments had unintentionally came of as rude. Those were the days that Peter counted calories like his thumping heartbeat, until he caught himself doing it and forced himself to take a deep breath and focus on anything else. 

Anything else turned out to be a fun task to explore and he spent countless hours training with the avengers, after sheepishly explaining that he was in fact Spider-Man and yes he did steal Captain America’s shield. And that revelation lead to some uncomfortable questions about his metabolism and Peter wanted to scream when they ask about how much food he needed to eat, because he never dared think about things that trigger him so severely- like food. And food. And food. And food. And food. 

And Tony wasn’t considered a genius for nothing and he clearly knew that something was up with Peter and food and his dad shut down the conversations about food before they become too overwhelming and all consuming. For a second Peter wanted to confront the man and figure out how he found out about his food issues, but he thought twice of it and decided that he would rather focus only on the feelings of being loved- because his dad loved him very much and that was all that mattered anyways. 

Over the next month he became grateful for the reminders from Tony to eat, as well as the granola bars and protein shakes that always seem to be on hand in the lab. One day he told Tony that he hated the strawberry granola bars and Tony looked like he was going to push Peter to elaborate on why he hated the seemingly harmless food. But the boy was glad when he did not push, because he wasn’t ready to explain that strawberry granola bars were the flavor they always ate in residential and he can’t eat them without having flashbacks of being locked in a hospital and forced to eat. The rules still haunted him and it was hard enough to forget without having to explain them to the people who he loved, but probably wouldn’t understand the 62 table rules that were committed to his memory from his stint in treatment. 

His dad listened to him with no complaints or questions however and Peter thanked his lucky stars for that. They fell into quite an easy routine and Peter wondered if he would ever need to explain his issues to his father or the avengers at large. He was hoping that if he ignored their existence, they would disappear and he would never have to be viewed as weak by anybody.

But then it all came to a head at a team dinner with his literal childhood heroes and he felt like his head was spinning out of control as he chucked an entire piece of pizza across the room. It landed with a plop against the wall and the team was staring at him, but Peter couldn’t help himself from snatching the pizza off of Tony’s and Steve’s plates as well- until all the pizza on the entire table was on the wall and Peter was crying and everyone but Tony was staring at him like he was being possessed by aliens. Tony on the other hand was already holding him close and wiping his tears with the pad of his thumb and promising that it would all turn out alright. And then as if a ghost overtook him, Peter started gushing words like a waterfall, because he needed to confide in someone- in anyone. 

And then all the avengers knew that he had an eating disorder, it was the first time Peter had used those words allowed and he felt like he was cracking, and that he was hospitalized so many times in his short life. They knew a little bit about Skip and they knew a lot about his uncle and the bullying from Flash and it all getting so much worse and Peter expected them to make him leave, because he was fucked up and so broken and nobody wanted a broken hero. 

But they didn’t make him leave and instead they made a pillow fort on the ground of the common room out of every single pillow and blanket in all their individual spaces combined. Clint taught him how to make a perfect nest and later that week he even dragged Peter into the vents and helped the ‘spider-baby’ set up a real nest just like his, where Peter could safely hide out if things were too overwhelming or he needed a break from the rest of them.

They watched movies, Peter got to choose three of the four, and they laughed and hugged and Peter received more love and affection in that one night than he had received in his entire life. It was so different from the hospital and the residential treatment center, that Peter wondered how the warm setting was even more therapeutic than any clinical one ever was. He chalked it up to the power of love and that night they share secrets like they were shooting stars and for once. Peter didn't feel like he was the meteor that wiped the dinosaurs out. 

He learned about Tony, Bruce and Clint’s abusive fathers and with teary eyes watched as the three men share a hug of solidarity. The looked like puzzle pieces that finally got to snap together after a lifetime too long and it made Peter feel all warm and fuzzy inside. He smiled as he heard Clint explaining that his kids were his chance to not to be like his father and he cried some more when Tony told him that Peter was his shot to be nothing like his father. 

He learned about Natasha’s training when she was a little girl and how terrified she was of the amount of people she has killed before and then she was hugging Tony when he explained how he feels different yet so similar. He heard about Steve being sick and frail when he was younger and Bucky even uncurled himself from around the pillow in his lap and spoke long enough to tell him that he had done horrible things and was terrified of repeating his past and then they are all giving him a tentative hug as well. 

It turned out that everyone on the team had PTSD, Peter included, and for the first time in forever he didn’t feel so alone anymore. He spoke in confident, hushed whispers about what Skip forced him to do and Clint looked at him with a stoney expression- before offering a hand to hold in solidarity and understanding and if Clint’s father was alive today- Peter would murder him himself for what he had done to the kind, compassionate, amazing archer. 

Talking about his food issues was easier than he thought it would be and it felt good to know that the entire team knew and supported him regardless. He spoke about the hospital visits with haunting accuracy and about how he felt like he was losing himself to his own bad health and lack of control and terrifying mental illness. He explained how scary it was to feel out of control and how he often wondered if he would simply fade away one day, along with the food he refused to eat. He told them the rules and oh god, it was amazing to share the words that had haunted him for years. Every single person nodded their heads in understanding when Peter spoke and even if they didn’t directly understand what was wrong or what he had gone through, he knew that they understood what it felt like to be broken. 

But the thing was, none of them were broken and as they fell asleep that night, he used it as an opportunity to remind himself of that fact. They were all unique, beautiful moons in their own separate little orbit and they were far away and distant and often hard to understand, but they were not broken. They were simply pieces of a whole, that didn;’t understand that they needed each other to survive until they were snuggled together in their makeshift fort on the floor of the common room. Peter knew that they were all going to be ok that night and he focused on the sound of Bruce snoring and the feeling of Tony spooning him and Natasha’s watchful eye on their team even as she slept.

After that night, things didn’t automatically become better all at once and for the record, Peter hadn’t expected that to happen. He still struggled, and often at that, but recovery was not linear and he was finally ok with that fact. He knew that he wasn’t going to wake up tomorrow and have everything be magically ok, because that wasn’t how the world or his health worked. But he also knew that he had the strength to get better and he now had the support system and undying love that he needed to back him up in the rocky process of recovery. 

Eating disorders never truly left, they lingered under the surface of your skin, and you never really got to feel a hundred percent healed from their destructive damage that your illness had wreaked on your life. Sure he could work towards being the best version of yourself and healing and unpacking all the hurt from his life. But he also knew that he had to be realistic and he knew that he would most likely struggle with some sort of food issues for the rest of his entire life and his eating disorder was always going to be a part of him, whether or not he liked it, and he had to learn to live with that sad fact.

But now every time someone passed him an apple or a granola bar, never strawberry thank you very much, or sat with him while he ate or reminded him how perfect he was, Peter smiled instead of wanting to throw up or scream or cry; because it was no longer about food and it was instead about love and support and affection. 

He had food issues and for the first time in over a decade he felt like he could admit that. But everyone he loved had issues and he wasn’t in the hospital or in crisis or fucking dying from starving his body until he was a walking skeleton. And he was going to be ok. Peter Parker, food issues and all, was going to be ok. They were all going to be ok. And for the life of him, he was going to try to be done with hospital stays and residential treatment- because he knew that if this went on for much longer he was actually going to let his illness win and he was going to die. And he had too fucking much to live for. He had his Aunt and his Dad and the entire team to live for and they were all by his side, cheering him on and support him no matter what. He was going to get better not only for them, but also for himself- he was sure of it. 

**Author's Note:**

> So this fic was really personal... I don't know if anyone will like this or relate or anything, but I really needed to get it out there and writing it was therapeutic. Please take care of yourself if you relate to Peter !
> 
> Leave some comments, they make me happy- especially with something so emotionally draining !!
> 
> Also I finally fucking made a tumblr, the link is https://kianisabitch.tumblr.com/ feel free to hit me up or just say hey !!


End file.
